


Under Repairs

by blissed_bess



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: AU, Aftercare, BDSM, Dom!Jared, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Migraine, Scarred!Jensen, Scars, Whipping, fantasy bdsm, migraine!jensen, offscreen prior abuse, safeword, sub!Jensen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1463518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blissed_bess/pseuds/blissed_bess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can a new Master teach a damaged boy what a safeword really means?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title: Under Repairs  
Author:** blissed_bess  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Pairing:** J2  
 **Word Count:** 2460  
 **Kinks/Warnings:** fantasy bdsm, d/s, au, aftercare, whipping, safeword, off-screen prior abuse  
 **Prompt:** Written for the spnkink-meme prompt found here: http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/84257.html?thread=31563553#t31563553  
 **Summary:** Can a new Master teach a damaged boy what a safeword really means?

 

**Under Repairs**

Jared steps into the room, eyes drawn immediately to jensen, who kneels in perfect form, a vision of beauty and submission.

He walks a steady circle around jensen; observing, surveying, learning. He notes the calmness of the sub's lowered face, and the minute tremor in the sub's left little finger.

He stops in front of jensen, a Master's stance, and waits, a trainer's tool.

After a while, he says, 'you may speak', and wonders what jensen's first words to him will be.

'Your boy begs to be pleasing, Master,' jensen murmurs, heartfelt and yearning and so very needy.

'Excellent,' says Jared, walks back and forwards before jensen, drawing out the pause till it's just the wrong side of too long, comes to a stop again. 'And what will my boy do, to be pleasing to me?' (notes the soft hitch in jensen's breathing at the words 'my boy')

Watches as jensen takes one measured deep breath, exhales slowly, then begins to recite the standard Submissive's Liturgy.

'This boy vows...'

'No, no,' he admonishes gently, 'I know your vows - I did not ask you to recite them. You have begged to be pleasing. Before I even consider whether your begging was appropriately sincere and humble, and sufficiently supplicatory, I need to confirm what it is that you are actually begging for. So, what is it my boy, what will you do to be pleasing to me - your new Master?'

'Master,' jensen's voice quivers, breathy with fear and uncertainty.

Jared wants nothing more that to step forward and draw his boy into an embrace of comfort, care and ownership, to assure his boy that his begging is beautiful and that he is pleasing just in the simple act of drawing his next breath. 

But it is not his boy's submissiveness that is being tested here, it is his own skills as a Master. He has been entrusted with the care of this boy - this abused, damaged, traumatised sub - now, _his boy, his jensen_ \- by the Council of Masters. It had been a long involved application process, one he had worked through with diligence and determination. Long too, because of the time involved in jensen's own healing, counselling and rehabilitation. 

Of course, many Masters were drawn to jensen's suffering, not only appalled and horrified at the abuse he had endured, but lured by their innate needs to protect, guide and cherish. Jared had spent many, many sessions with Master Jeff, jensen's Council-assigned carer, accepting, processing and learning all there was to know about jensen. 

And so, Jared fights his natural instincts, integrates them back into his understanding of how, not to just be the Best Master, but rather, how to be the Best Master for jensen. 

He is gentle therefore when he prompts his sub again, 'how will you please me, my boy?'

'Master, your boy begs to be all that Master needs. Begs to submit, and pleasure, and provide for every Master's want. Begs to love, and endure, and attend, and obey...'

'There's the word,' Jared pounces, allowing his smile to flavour his words. 'Your honesty honours me, boy, and pleases me in all ways. Today, our first session together as Master and his new boy, will be a celebration of pain and pleasure, of submissiveness and Mastery, and of honesty and obedience. You will obey, boy, that is the way to pleasing me. Look at me, boy. Swift and total obedience. Do you understand?'

And it takes his breath away, his boy's open face, tilted to look up to him, gorgeous green eyes framed with luscious lashes, befreckled nose and cheeks, and plump pink lips. There's the scar of course, rough and jagged, slashing across from right eyebrow to left ear lobe, deeply bisecting his boy's left cheek. A burden from his past for his boy to bear, and a reminder for Jared of the vastness of his responsibility.

'Master, your boy understands. Obedience and honesty. Master, your boy begs to obey.'

'Disrobe, and drape yourself about my whipping pole. Await me there.'

While jensen obeys, Jared prepares himself. It will be a finely-tuned whipping, one that will require him to make exacting observation and judgement, one that will be painful to deliver, and painful to receive. He has studied jensen's training and rehabilitation tapes, and worked with Jeff to identify jensen's body language and tells. He reminds himself that he is an accomplished Master, and no matter how harsh today's session, he is honouring his own heartfelt vows as jensen's Master.

He shrugs off his leather jacket, but leaves on his trousers and boots. He selects his implement - a strappy whip - checks and rechecks every tiny bit of its surface for flaws or damage, snaps it several times for feel and weight and sound.

He strides over to the whipping pole, which is now adorned by his sub. A what a mesmerising adornment he is - body trim and compact, skin pale and speckled with freckles, scars marked and myriad, cock cut and tumescent, and nipples rosy and peaked. 

'My boy,' Jared sighs, ghosting the whip handle over his sub's face, tracing eyebrows, cheekbones, the scar, then lips. 'Your Master thanks you for the gift of your submission. You may kiss my whip.'

And its a long lingering kiss, one that hints at all sorts of pleasures to be had.

Jared adjusts his boy's body, stretching the canvas of his boy's back, raising his arms higher above his head.

'I will not bind you today. You are bound by your Master's Will. You will not lower your arms. You will not move away. Do you understand?'

'Master, your boy will obey.' 

'Boy, what is your safeword?'

And there it is - deer in the headlights. His boy's eyes stretch wide and his mouth moves silently, practicing the word a few times till he can manage to vocalise it. 

'Apple-pie, Master,' jensen says on a whisper so soft Jared can barely hear it.

'Thank you, boy. It is an acceptable safeword.' Jared knows the story behind it too - can hear Jeff explaining it represents a feeling of safety and warmth for his boy. 'But I could barely hear it. You will say it again loudly and clearly ten times over. Begin.'

When his boy is finished, Jared walks round the pole, so he stands right in front of his boy. He asks again, 'what is your safeword, boy?' and smiles when jensen says, loudly and clearly, 'apple-pie'.

'And when will you use your safeword?'

'Master, safeword use is a responsibility...'

'No, no,' Jared keeps his voice gentle and soft, 'I don't want a recitation of the rules. I want to know when you, my boy, will use your safeword.'

'Master, your boy...your boy...will use...'

'You will use your safeword when you can no longer endure. Do you understand? When you have tried your best, and can no longer endure. This is very important to me.' Jared crouches a bit, so he can look right in his boy's eyes. 'You have begged to please me - obey me on this and you will please me. Do you understand?'

'Master,' brilliant green eyes shining with openness and honesty, 'your boy understands - apple-pie when your boy can no longer endure.'

'Very good. Now, what happens when you use your safeword?'

And Jared thinks he almost loses him then. He stands at the ready to catch his boy as jensen's eyes roll and breath catches and skin pales to bleached-sheet white. But his boy has maintained his position at the whipping pole, bound by his Master's Will, and now he's gulping in air, chest heaving, trying to win back control. 

'Master,' he pants, eyelashes fluttering, 'Master...'

Jared knows just how much of jensen's extensive trauma counselling and rehabilitation has centred around the proper use of a safeword. And the responsibility of a true Master when a sub uses their safeword. He knows that jensen knows the answers to all his questions. He knows that jensen understands his answers to all these questions. He knows that Jeff is confidant that jensen has practiced, and will apply, his newly acquired knowledge of safeword use. 

He knows that Jeff believes in him. And he won't let Jeff or jensen or himself down.

'Boy,' he soothes, 'my boy. You are doing so well. Your Master is pleased beyond measure with all that you are, right here before me. Master knows how hard you are trying, and you are doing so well.'

'Master, thank you...'

'Now, when you say your safeword, this is what will happen,' Jared pauses while his boy breathes deeply, 'your Master will care for you. Do you understand, boy, I will stop, everything will stop, and I will care for you. I may help you endure, or I may help you recover. That is up to me, as your Master. What you need to know, is that when you say your safeword, I, your Master, will care for you. Do you understand?'

'Master, thank you, Master. Your boy begs for your care, Master.'

'It is yours boy, always. All I do, with you, to you, for you, is always done with my care. Trust in that boy, and you will please me greatly.' Jared wipes his boy's tears and suckles them from his own fingers. He rests the handle of his whip on his boy's lips, and waits till his boy is composed enough to begin worshiping it with longing kisses.

'We will begin.'

Jared steps away, pacing his strides. He breathes deeply, silently repeating his Master's Mantra, he observes and checks his waiting boy, then delivers his first stroke.

It is perfectly placed, across both arse-cheeks, a vivid blood-filled welt that does not break skin. His boy vocalises on an exhale, a melodic sound that deconstructs to embraced shock, rideable pain, and mild arousal.

He continues with several more carefully placed, carefully observed, strokes. His boy's back and buttocks are colouring well, his marks evenly placed and none crossing another. There is an area of heavy scarring on his boy's right shoulder-blade that remains untouched by Jared's whip, a testament to the care of his placements.

Jared pauses, checking in on his boy, monitoring his responses. jensen is steady in his stance, his fingers are pink and moveable, his breathing is deep and assured, his voice is clear and dreamy, his cock is full and heavy. jensen's face is serene and angelic - even the jagged scar seems pale and insignificant. Jared is pleased, reassured and confidant with their progress. 

For now the work truly begins.

'Remember all you have promised me, boy, for now is the time of your testing.' He had not meant to say this aloud, but there it is, a clear, sign-posted warning for his boy.

He begins his ritual again, checking his whip, pacing his stride, repeating his mantra, observing, checking, aiming his stroke. Five more, he thinks, six, maybe. 

Delivers four, pausing between each, knowing they are getting close. Knows now it will be six. Aims five for just on the lowest edge of his boy's bottom, listens, observes. Six is the most difficult - just too much and he knows his boy will falter and all will be lost, just too little and the peak he has been aiming for will be missed. He lines up, prepares, and delivers the perfect strike.

Listens.

Listens.

Listens.

But hears no safeword.

His boy has failed the test.

Jared knows that jensen has passed the idyllic high of a good whipping, has passed the pain of a hard whipping, and has passed the agony of a punishment whipping. By uncontrolled breath, by uncensored voice, by shattered composure - by the movement of his body and the jerking of his hands - his boy teeters on the brink of what he can endure. And he has not safeworded.

'Say your word,' he orders his boy.

'Master... no... no...' jensen is sobbing, begging, eyes closed, hands no longer held high, body no longer embracing the whipping pole, cock now soft. He's moaning and crying, leaning on the pole, trying at least to stay upright. 'For you Master, more, please...'

'Say your word. Obey me, boy. Say your word.'

'Master...no... this boy begs...no...'

'Say your word. Only obeying me will please me. Say your safeword.'

'Master,' through his tears, his moans, his wrecked voice, his broken body, jensen cries.

And Jared's heart is about to break. 'Please boy, obey your Master. Say your word.'

'Apple-pie.'

And jensen collapses in a defeated heap.

Of course, Jared catches him before he falls, finally, finally pulls his boy into an embrace of comfort, care and ownership.

'When _you_ can endure no more, boy. Not what your Master wants, or expects or needs. Only you.' 

Jared carries his boy over to the big couch, soothes him with words and cool water and salves. Wraps him in soft towelling, and his Master's embrace.

'Do you understand, boy? This is what happens when you say your safeword.'

'Your boy did not know, Master,' jensen's tears have abated, but glisten still in his sad, green eyes, ready to fall again.

'Your Master knew that. You needed to be shown.' Jared is running his fingers through his boy's short hair, slow and rhythmic, over and over. 

'But...' then a shocked intake of breath at his own audacity.

'You may speak freely here on this couch,' Jared assures him. 'Tell me your doubt.'

'Master, your boy,' fresh tears fall, 'this boy tried to be strong enough. This boy wanted to endure, but couldn't. Failed my Master... Sorry, Master. This boy is so sorry...'

'Your strength is a joy for your Master to behold, and it is your strength that enabled you to endure all that I hoped you would. My whip adored you. But there came a time when you could endure no more - and that is when you must safeword. We will try again, practice this many times, in many different ways. Till you learn that it is not a failure to use your safeword. We cannot be all that we can be together until this lesson is learnt. Bear with me, my beautiful boy, and I will help you soar.'

'Master,' gorgeous green eyes, awash with love and hope, 'this boy will strive to be worthy. This boy thanks you Master for all your care.'

'Not 'this boy', jensen, never again 'this boy'. You are 'my boy' now. Now and always.' And Jared kisses his boy's forehead, kisses down the scarring across his boy's nose, down, till their lips meet. He licks his boy's lips, licks them open, kisses softly, gently, till he feels his boy's tongue reciprocating, and, at last, he tastes the sweet, sweet kisses of his new boy.

fin


	2. Under Repairs - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unplanned detours.

**Under Repairs - Part Two**

 

'My boy, before we begin today, what is your safeword?' _Remind yourself, my precious boy, remind yourself that you are safe, you have control and you are cared for.'_

'Master, my safeword is apple-pie.'

'Please repeat your safeword ten times over. Your Master would hear it loud and clear, so that I will recognise it when you use it. You may begin.' _Practice, my beautiful boy, practice your agency, your participation, your responsibility._

'Master, one apple-pie, two apple-pie, three apple-pie...' all the way to ten.

'Tell me what it means, my boy, for you to say this safeword to me.' _Believe, my resilient boy, believe that you will be heard, you will be safe, your strength will be nurtured._

'Master... It means... it means...'

His boy's voice is soft and husky, as though he can only whisper the true secrets of his soul. Jared realises immediately that they are going somewhere he did not expect. He strains forward, drawn to his boy's struggle, yearning to soothe and support, knowing to wait and listen. He watches his boy swallow convulsively, drag in mouthfuls of air, pink tongue moistening dry lips.

'I can wait, my boy - we are in no rush. Your Master is ready to hear, when you are ready to speak.' _Trust, my wounded boy, trust me with your pain, your joys, and with your sorrows._

'Master, there was a time... when this boy had a different word.' With supreme control, Jared allows himself to only blink in the face of his boy's raw pain. 'But it did not work, Master... it did not work. This boy remembers begging, pleading... crying... screaming - but the word meant nothing...'

As his boy's tears well and fall, Jared dares not move a muscle, dares not even breathe, lest he misses one single softly whispered word.

'Sometimes, though... it meant more than nothing. Sometimes, it meant... sometimes, it must have meant... _hurt me more_.' His boy breaks then, anguished sobs, wrenched harsh and guttural, body diminished, hunched in on his hurts.

And Jared breaks too, moves carefully and quickly, sits on the floor where his boy kneels, gathers his boy into his lap, cradles his boy against his chest, comforts his boy with soothing strokes. Uses no words, only gently murmured sounds. He knows instinctively there is more to be said, does not want to disrupt his boy's fragile courage.

'Master, your boy is learning... learning that a safeword means something different here - something different to you, my Master, and something different to your boy. Master, this boy feels... scared and brave and... _terrified_ when he uses his word...'

They pause while Jared soothes his boy through a fierce bout of weeping, supporting his boy when his boy cannot.

'... Master, when this boy says apple-pie to you it means that he gives you his all - body, heart, mind and soul - to care for.'

'My precious boy,' Jared bestows kisses on his boy's sweat-dampened hair. 'I relieve you of the pain associated with your previous safeword. Give this burden to your Master, for him to bear on your behalf. We will both keep the memory, for it is important for us both to acknowledge the wrongs you have suffered in the past, but I ask for you to now let go this pain. Breath deeply now, letting go, letting go, letting go more with every exhalation. Allow your Master to take this burden from you.'

And his boy stops breathing for a moment, holds in his breath, still and quiet in his arms, then there follows silent shallow breaths, then controlled deep breathing - measured inhalations, purposeful exhalations. Jared reaches for the soft cloths he had laid out in preparation for other plans for the morning, and uses them now instead to wipe his boy's face, clear his boy's nose, cleanse his boy's lashes. He twists his body, encourages his boy to meet his eyes, to witness his care, his honesty.

'My boy, we have a long journey ahead of us - it will stretch onward to the end of our lifetimes. Trust in your Master's guidance and we will journey together, at our own pace, a little more each day. Trust given and trust returned - this is the never-ending cycle that will raise us up to be all that we can be - with each other, for each other and to each other. Your Master thanks his boy for his honesty and courage this morning - you do me great honour.'

Jared rocks his boy in the quiet of the room, listens to his boy's breathing, in out, in out, in out. He reworks the morning he'd planned, switching some things around, eliminating others.

'Are you ready to face the day?' he quietly asks his boy, encouraged by his boy's determined nod of head. 'Good. Your Master will be spending this day in his office, working on some new designs. You will disrobe when we arrive there, and arrange yourself comfortably at my feet. There you will rest, sleep, contemplate - whatever suits. You may worship your Master's boots, should you desire. You will move about as is necessary to maintain your ease. You will alert your Master should you need anything, should you feel hunger or thirst, should you feel discomfort of any kind. Do you understand your Master's wishes?'

'Master,' wide green eyes, clear now of the echoes of pain and sorrow, glistening with something more, something truthful and hopeful and care-full. 'Master, your boy begs to serve as his Master so wishes.' And he smiles.

fin


	3. There is no safeword here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no safeword here.

**Under Repairs - Part Three**

 

'Master, your boy is so sorry,' jensen swallows and swallows, his mouth full of saliva. 'It... Master... your boy can tell already, it will be a bad one...'

'Hush, boy, do not apologise for this. Close your eyes if it will help, or not, if it is better that you see. We will be in my chambers soon. stephen has gone ahead to close the drapes.'

jensen can hear the strain in his Master's voice, knows that he is the cause. Can do nothing about it. He fights the nausea, swallowing mouthfuls of drool, tries to think of nothing but the safety of his Master's arms. He closes his eyes, but the swaying movement of being carried by his Master is somehow so much worse. He moans with his efforts not to throw up.

'Nearly there, boy, nearly there. You can rest and we will ward off this attack as best we can.'

jensen moans again, knowing there is no fighting this attack, there is only submission, surrender and defeat. The pain in his head has awakened once again and is preparing to destroy him. He has no option, no defence, but to succumb to its devastation till it chooses to leave him. There is no safeword here.

They are through the big wooden doors of his Master's bedchamber, his Master moving carefully and quickly, and he is laid, ever so gently on his Master's own bed.

The light of the lamp blinds him, as though swords of fire have sliced through his eyes, and he cries out, unable to articulate his pain in words, only harsh keening sounds of pain. 

'stephen, douse the lamps, quickly boy!' and though his Master has spoken in hushed tones, the sound echoes in jensen's head as if trumpet-blared.

Though he knows he lays still and unmoving in his Master's bed, he still rides the rocking motion of his carried rush to his Master's rooms and he grips handfuls of the sheets as if to steady his body against the phantom movement. He wants to ask for some water, manages only a shaky 'Master' when the word for water eludes him and the grammar for question-asking vanishes mist-like into the pounding beat of his pain.

But then his Master is there, holding a goblet of water to his lips, gentling his boy's clumsy attempts to reach for it himself. 

'Sip slowly, my boy,' his Master whisper-bellows, and jensen groans at the piercing sound. 

He does little more than dampen his lips, unable to bear the overwhelming smell of the water, the bitterness of the taste, before laying back into the luxury of his Master's pillows. 

Darkness surrounds him. And he waits for the fireworks to begin. Usually they will come, if this episode follows the patterns of previous ones, right after he - his stomach heaves, and he has time to make some small distressed sound, and his Master rolls him to his side, holding a basin to catch his vomit - throws up.

He cries that his Master sees him this weak, then he cries for the pain he is in. He is soothed by his Master, warm cloth wiping his face, more water offered to sip, hushed offers to take the pain from him if he could. He cries then for the pain he is causing his Master, him - such a broken, damaged boy - to have such a strong, magnificent Master, and what does he do, but cause his Master such misery and distress. He does not deserve the devoted care of his Master, and he cries even more for his unworthiness. 

But then the fireworks are set off in his skull and his head explodes with the flashing of lights, with colours bursting and splashing over the inside of his eyelids. And each starburst of colour, each zigzag of flash lightning, pounds with an agony that takes all thought away.

Time passes, though he has no measure of how much. He only knows that when the light show finally fades he rouses slowly to a still darkened room. And he sees the shadow of his Master, perched in a too small chair, asleep with his head resting on the side of the bed. And he feels the warmth and strength of his Master's hands, as they hold captive his own nearest hand, linking them together, Master and his boy, anchored through the brutality of his pain.

Alerted by some unknown aspect of their connection, he watches his Master awaken, slowly stretching stiffened muscles, big hands moving tenderly to trace his boy's fingers, to gently stroke the skin of the back of his boy's hand, to offer comfort through his touch. 

jensen sighs at his Master's care, blinks slowly in the dark, mind numb and hazy with the aftereffects of the bright lights.

'My boy,' his Master breathes, 'how have you fared? Will you take some of your herbal cordial now?'

'Master,' less of a whisper even, more of a breath, as though the word needs no vocalisation, it is simply the shape of all his breaths, exists in the pump of his pulse, in the beat of his heart. He yearns to recite his Submissive's Liturgy just so his Master can hear that it's not just words that his boy has memorised, but he has swallowed the words, given them life in his heart and mind and body and soul, such that they now, no longer simply an external prompt to guide his thinking, his feeling; but instead, now, they _are_ his thinking and feeling - and his breath and pulse and heartbeat - essential to his life. He feels the caresses of his Master - small movements tracing patterns on his held hand - and he cries at the wonder of his Master's care.

'Here, my boy, small sips, just small sips. Your Master knows, from the last time, that we may have only a brief time before you are lost to the pain again. Please my boy, just some small sips.' 

But his body reacts before his mind engages and at the touch of the vial to his lips he flails in fear of an unknown concoction. His fear awakens memories, and he can feel them rolling in, all the unknown potions, fed to him against his will, forced upon him, never knowing what to expect, though sometimes, worse, when he did.

'Please, my boy, just breath in the aroma - it is the cordial that you yourself made under the guidance of Healer mark. Remember how you placed each ingredient into the mortar, ground it just so with the pestle, how you soaked and strained the cordial, how you bottled it yourself in the small blue vials. And here it is, my boy, your mark there still on the vial. Trust your Master, trust yourself, please boy, allow the easement it will bring to the pain that is yet to come.'

And there in the dark, surrounded by his Master's voice and smell and touch and comfort, he rejects the lure of the memories, and strains his neck forward to drink of the offered cordial.

'Such a brave boy, such a good boy, your Master is so blessed to have you.' And there are soft kisses in his hair, on his forehead, and one, right there, right at the edge of his eyebrow, and he shudders through a wave of warm emotion as his Master kisses the spot, right there at the edge of his eyebrow, where the horror of his scar begins. 'Relax now, allow the cordial to work its magic - how can it not be magic when you yourself have created it? Is there anything you need, my boy, anything at all?'

He burrows into the blankets, and his Master fusses over them, smoothing them, hitching them up under his chin. The room is too dark for him to see his Master's face, but he drifts now comfortably under the influence of the cordial and the soft gentle sound of his Master's voice.

'Your boy begs, Master,' he whispers, 'don't leave me. Please, Master, please, don't leave this boy...'

'Hush now, _my_ boy, your Master will be with you every moment of the way, keeping you safe, doing all I can to help to ease you. Hush now, and rest while you can. While you rest, I will tell you all the occurrences that you have missed. First, know that Master Jeff has been by to see how you fare, and of course, Healer mark has come by several times, too. That lovely Healer's Apprentice, I can't remember her name - Diana? Dana? - she came with some lemon candy-cubes for when you are feeling better. Your Master did not know his boy enjoyed these treats - and has arranged for a supply of them to be kept in our rooms for you. Hmmmm, who else? That's right, your new friend - Master Kurt's boy - the one I designed the dragon for - mmmmm, misha, if I remember his name right - he too came by to wish my boy well. There have been many other well-wishes, of course, but Master Jeff is still very protective of you, and rightly so. stephen is keeping track for us...'

And jensen allows the words to wash over him, until the pounding in his head builds and builds and builds and he spends the night and the day and another night lost to agony, lost to relentless pounding pain in his head, vomiting during the worst of it, sobbing through the least of it. 

When finally he wakes and there are only muted echoes of pain to greet him he sighs, deeply thankful the episode is over. After a quiet while, he's stretching tired muscles, slowly, tentatively, when he realises, with a sudden jolt of awareness, that he is not alone in the bed. 

All the long talks he's had with Master Jeff, all the counsel and advice from Healer mark, all the tips and teases from misha, all the discussions and reassurances from his Master - all working so hard through the long months of his recovery, all trying to help him be unafraid of the expected intimacies associated with being a Master's boy. The work has been hard, and slow, and is ongoing - he has so many fears, much anxiety, has been so hurt and betrayed and damaged and...

And yet, here he is, _sharing_ his Master's bed. For the very first time.

And he can feel the warmth of his Master, can just stretch out his fingertip to feel the closeness of his Master, can hear the sleep-driven breathing of his Master, can smell the familiar scent of his Master - and he feels... unafraid.

After a while, he rolls over onto his side, so he is facing his sleeping Master.

After another while, he shifts just a little closer, so he can be near his sleeping Master.

After a longer while, he shifts even closer, so that his body is touching his sleeping Master.

After a while more, he lifts his arm and lays it across his sleeping Master's chest, and rests his head on his sleeping Master's arm, and exhales a shaky breath, and then another, and another, and he feels... unafraid... overwhelmed... like he is home. He feels the strength of his Master even in sleep, and he feels safe. Safe enough that, after a while, he drifts back into sleep.

To the rhythm of his Master's controlled, ever-so-controlled, breathing.

 

fin


End file.
